Urban Concubine
by Orchideater
Summary: Yaoi, lemon, kink Gh/Y, V/Y, Gk/Y. COMPLETE. Yamcha has finally found his place, as the shared lover of three very different saiyans. He reveals the deepest, most private fantasies of each man.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: All DBZ characters property of Akira Toriyama and official licensees.

A/N: NC-17. Gh x Y, V x Y, Gk x Y, domination, strange kink, OOC Yamcha (but since we don't see that much of him after Cell, who can prove it's OOC?) ;p I've made a few edits from the version I submitted to Dark Serapha's contest. Nothing big, just correcting some errors and reworking a few sentences to make them read better.

Urban Concubine

by Orchideater

Act I

---

Velvet swipes across my cheek.

I hear a commotion in the distance, and suddenly realize I am no longer dreaming. Such a shame– and I was having such a satisfying night's rest, too.

I stir, raising a hand to my face as I wrench myself out of sleep's comfortable embrace and return to the land of the living. For a moment I stare mindlessly at the filtered morning light streaming in through my curtains, then gain presence of mind enough to turn and focus on whatever's touching me.

Oh. I see now. Puar is smacking me across the face.

"Yamcha-samaaaa!"

He's whisper-shouting at me in a panic, and I wonder what's got him so worked up this early in the morning.

"All right, Puar, enough already," I say, sitting up and rubbing my face. "What the hell?"

He stops smacking me and gesticulates wildly as he hovers above my chest, stuttering about incoherently. "Yamcha-sama– that girl you brought home– she's there– your wallet!"

He emphasizes the last word, jabbing his paws in the direction of the kitchen. So that's what's going on. I leap soundlessly out of bed and slip on my boxers before peering discretely out the door, just enough so I can see her in the hallway mirror.

Yup, there she is, rifling through my billfold, still in her revealing club-wear from last night. She's going to look funny walking home in broad daylight like that. I glide silently up behind her and lean against the door frame ten feet away, just watching her work. This appears to be nothing new to her.

"If you think you're due something," I say, and she jumps with all the grace and poise of a thief who knows they've been caught red-handed, "go ahead and take it. Though, I wasn't aware I'd taken home a whore."

She turns scarlet with rage and embarrassment and her jaw swivels comically, but she can't seem to find the words to contradict me.

"I-I was just looking for a souvenir!" she blurts out at last.

"Oh yeah? Our one night together was that memorable, was it?"

Unable to come up with anything else, she hurls my wallet at me and spins around, marching toward the door with as much speed and dignity as four-inch heels allow. Does she think I don't notice she's still got my property?

I am behind her in less time than she can blink, grabbing her wrist and retrieving the 400 zenni she apparently thought her presence was worth, twisting her arm to her back to keep her in place.

"Not today, baby," I say, and she gawks up at me for a moment, stunned that a human being could move so fast. "If you're looking for a sugar daddy or a chump, go find some other guy. I'm not playing those games."

I take pity and stuff twenty zenni for cab fare down her cleavage, then turn her roughly to face me.

"It is a shame. I was hoping for many more one-night stands together." Leaning in, I steal one last kiss from those plush, sugary lips. For a moment she yields, then remembers herself and thrashes in my grip. I release her, laughing, and she shoves at me and then storms off down the apartment building hallway and out of my life.

Good riddance. But still, I enjoy the view as she leaves.

She was a tasty piece of ass, and last night was a refreshing departure from my usual fare. Though she was angry at the end, I know she had a damn good time also. Too bad. She could have provided some fine entertainment.

I stroll back into my condo and Puar floats up to me, looking utterly exhausted. "Thanks for the help, Puar," I tell him.

"Lord Yamcha," he pleads, "Can't you please try to be a little more discriminating about whom you associate with? Why must you always bring home such questionable women?"

"Hey, she seemed fine at first. And besides," I grin over my shoulder at him as I walk past, "she was fun."

"She almost stole all of your cash! You call that fun?"

"Yup. All of it was fun."

Puar just shakes his head and follows me to the bedroom, where he goes to work making the rumpled bed.

"Anyway, forget about her," I say. "I've got more important people to see today."

The certain look I give him tells him all he needs to know.

"Oh. Well, you'll need a good meal before you set out. I'll make breakfast!" He soars off, and I hear him clattering dishes and pans while I wash up and finish getting dressed, then comb my hair out and pull it back. I've been letting it grow a little longer again lately, and at present it's about down to my shoulders.

I enjoy a meal of Puar's good home cooking, then prepare to set off. As usual, Puar worries over me like a mother hen.

"Who are you seeing today, Lord Yamcha?" he asks, trying to sound like he's not prying.

"Gonna be busy. Today, I am doing a..." I kick my favorite baseball cap off its hook on the back of the door, bounce it off my heel, then my knee, then with a complicated flourish of the arm, sweep it onto my head.

"A hat trick!" he exclaims. "All three in one day, again?!"

"Right. Wish me luck." I hook the baseball cap over his head, give him a casual salute, and head out the door.

"Lord Yamcha, please don't overexert yourself!"

"Have a little faith, Puar. Don't wait up." I give him a final wave and leave.

---

It's a beautiful day, so I decide to fly there on my own power. At this speed the people below will only see a streak in the sky, so no worries for causing a scene. I run some errands, check out the new selection of air cars and let a sales guy try to wheel and deal me, then head for my real destination, Soaring Eagle High.

I touch down on the deserted school roof and smooth out my windblown hair and clothes. The only door leading down is locked, but with a bit of ki manipulation that's easily fixed.

I descend the stairs and then roam the halls idly, the thud of my boots echoing in the mostly deserted halls. Sometimes a lone student on a mission passes by, staring at me as he goes.

The students are in class, and the drone of teachers lecturing before their blackboards grinds on my ears as I pass by each occupied room. The students inside near the doors turn their heads to observe me as I pass, glad for any distraction.

Just walking through here gives me the chills. I never got much formal education, and frankly I'm not sorry. These places have the air of a glorified prison, with the kids trapped inside and dully resigned to their role as a captive audience.

Ah, and here comes a warden now.

A young girl holding a clipboard and wearing a laminated badge turns the corner and heads in my direction. She can't be more than 14. Her eyes widen when she spots me, and I can see her face grow redder and redder the closer she gets. I smile at her, hands in pockets, and she averts her eyes to the floor, flicking nervous glances up at my face.

Too cute. She must be the bashful type. Or it could be the red fitted shirt, black leather jacket, and ass-hugging black jeans I'm wearing.

As I reach her she screws up the nerve to address me. "Umm... sir? Do you have a hall pass?"

I flash a big smile and she turns even redder. "Not really," I say. "I just let myself in." I smile down at her and run a hand through my hair, just to tease her some more.

"Actually, I'm looking for one of your teachers. You know where Son Gohan is right now, sweetheart?"

"Oh! Um. Yes, hold on..." She fumbles with her notebook and scans a printout of information. "I think he's at the teachers' lounge right now." She looks up at me for approval, pleased with herself for having the answer to my question.

"Hey, that's great. Think you could take me there?"

She averts her eyes again and nervously agrees. I follow her down a flight of stairs, down hallway after hallway until we come to a boring, institutional door with "Teachers' Lounge" in block print on the frosted window. Looks like a thrilling place to spend your time off.

I knock on the door and let myself in. The room inside is just as dull and low-budget as expected. The place instantly goes quiet as eight pairs of eyes all turn in my direction, out of habit at first, then stare in astonishment.

"Hey, there," I address the crowd. "I'm looking for Son Gohan?"

Now all heads turn to the man sitting at a table against the wall, papers and books and lesson plans surrounding him like so much jetsam on the shore. He looks horror-stricken, frozen with a deer-in-the-headlights look, then comes to his senses and covers with the inherited Son family gesture: hand to the back of the head and a sheepish chuckle.

"O-Oh! You're early!" With all the eyes alternating between boring holes in him and scrutinizing me, he feels the need to add, "This is Yamcha. He's an old friend of the family. We had plans to get together for lunch."

This seems to satisfy the onlookers, if only partway. He stands up, sparing a glance at me over his shoulder as he starts cleaning up his great pile of junk. "Can you wait for me outside? I'll be there in a minute."

I respond with a two-fingered salute to him and the rest, then shut the door behind me, closed but not latched so I can still hear the rest of the teachers bombard him with questions and hear pieces of Gohan's shaky answers, catching snippets such as "friend of my dad's," and "old friend of the family," and "professional bachelor," when a female voice commented on my attire and asked if I was single.

Oh, my little guide is still here, looking uncomfortable. I guess she didn't know if she was allowed to leave or not. Or maybe she just didn't want to.

"Hey," I say, and she looks up at me, face growing red again. Gohan pokes his head out the door in a hurry just then, catching me in the act of teasing the hell out of one of his students. He scowls fiercely but doesn't interrupt, so I decide to finish her off.

"Thanks for the help. It was nice to have such a pretty escort," I say with a wink. Her eyes grow huge, then slam to the floor again. She mumbles an unintelligible response (I doubt even she knew what she was saying) and speeds off in the opposite direction.

I turn my attention to Gohan, who's shut the door tightly behind him and is also red in the face, but for entirely different reasons. He's flustered, his clothes are rumpled and ill-fitting, and he's clutching a briefcase with papers and booklets and other work items sticking out of the seam from having been crammed sloppily inside, and of course he's wearing those awful clunky plastic glasses. At the moment he looks every inch a "nutty professor."

I give him a fresh smile and play innocent just to piss him off more. "Hey, man. What's up?"

He puffs like an alligator preparing to strike, then grabs me by the arm and drags me thirty feet down the hall, out of hearing range of the people in the lounge, before he blows up.

"WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!" he hisses at me, waving his unoccupied hand about in the air. "You were supposed to wait for me on the roof. Now not only have the students seen you, so have my coworkers!"

"So what? The explanation you gave them was fine."

"You didn't even go through the front desk, did you?" he accuses, and I shrug.

"That's even worse! Parents and teachers freak out when a stranger just shows up inside the school. It's supposed to be locked for security!"

"Jeez, what a prison complex."

"Gahh! Come with me." He grabs hold of my wrist, and the next moment he's moving us at superspeed, so fast no normal eye could see us. I just go along for the ride, since he's the only one who knows where he's going.

We shoot through a door and then stop. Gohan shuts it carefully and leans up against it, sighing in relief, while I take a look around us.

Ugh. The boiler room?

"This is a new one. You sure you want to do this in such a dirty place?"

Gohan shakes his head. He seems to have calmed down some. "No, not here. This way."

We walk past heaters, A.C. units, and back-up generators, and a multitude of various mechanical and electrical equipment. Wires and vents and an abundance of pipes– large white PVC pipes, thin and rusty metal ones, pipes wrapped in old, crumbling insulation– wrap around the main units and branch off, spreading out and traveling along the walls like veins from a heart. The air smells musty and metallic, and our footsteps echo on the concrete floors.

Gohan leads me along a narrow back hallway crammed with boxes and junk, and finally at the very end he stops. He moves an old metal storage locker to the side just enough to reveal a small, narrow door behind it that had before been completely hidden.

He opens the door with a creak, and we squeeze inside. A flip of the ancient switch on the wall lights a single bare bulb suspended from the ceiling. It's obvious he's cleaned the place up for our use, because the room is spotless, no cobwebs or grime, with only a few boxes stacked neatly in the corner, an old student's chair and desk, and a plain blanket occupying the space.

"Damn, Gohan. How'd you ever find this place?" I ask as I continue looking around.

He pulls the storage locker back in front of the door and shuts the door. "Well, a while back there was a rash of stomach flu among the students, and one of them puked right in my class–"

"Wow, the life of a scholar is so glamorous."

"Shut up! You're the one who asked."

"Sorry, you're right." I cross my arms and smirk at him. "So, you were saying something about vomit? You sure do know how to set the mood."

He fumes for a moment then elects to continue his story. "Anyway," he huffs, "I went down here to look for an extra mop and bucket, since the janitors were all busy cleaning up other messes, and I found this door by accident. The lock was rusty so I figured no one ever came in here anymore. I broke it off and came back and cleaned the place up after hours."

"Couldn't wait for the janitors, huh? You just wanted an excuse to snoop around down here, didn't you?"

He sulks and looks away sheepishly, a small blush on his face.

"You really have a knack for finding out-of-the-way nooks and crannies like this. It's a strange gift. I'm impressed though; it's actually kind of cozy. It's so cut off from the world, though. Not your usual style."

"Not completely cut off." Gohan smiles and walks to the back of the room, kneeling in front of a large rectangular grate in the wall. "Come here and listen."

I get up and join him, and sure enough, a noise emits from the grate, subdued but distinct if you trained your ears to it. I can hear clinking and clanking noises, and over it all, the murmur of many voices. Student voices. My eyes widen in realization. Holy crap. Only a wall away, through this air vent is–

"The student cafeteria!" I burst out laughing. "Oh my god. Gohan, you're a genius. Leave it to you!" He grins brightly, thrilled that I understand the great find he has in this room.

The moment fades, and we are left staring at each other. As usual, he is unwilling to make the first move.

"Well," I say, standing up. I shrug off my jacket and toss it into a corner, and approach him. "Time for my private lesson, eh, teacher?"

He chuckles and looks away, rubbing the back of his head. He's always so bashful at the start. So adorably virginal.

I stand before him and make him look me in the eyes. Taking hold of each arm of his glasses, I pull them gently from his face, then ruffle his hair a bit, pulling down a few strands of bangs. It makes him look younger and much less uptight.

I'd love to throw those horrible glasses in the garbage, too. He only needs them for reading yet he wears them all the time, and insists on that ancient, bargain-basement style of plastic frame. He seems a bit concerned for their safety, so I flick the glasses into the corner on top of my jacket.

"There, much better already," I say as I cradle his face in my hand, running a thumb over where the glasses had rested on his cheeks. He looks up at me, eyes full of yearning and that chronic uncertainty. He almost always needs some loosening up at first. I'll start by getting rid of the rest of this travesty of an outfit.

A shiver runs through him as I slide my hands up his shoulders, pushing the blazer off his broad shoulders. Time to piss him off a little.

I move in close and pull the sleeves of the blazer from his arms, and hiss in his ear, "Damn, why the hell do you dress this way, Gohan? I'm surprised Videl lets you out of the house looking like this."

That hit a nerve. He pulls back and snarls, "Do NOT mention my wife at a time like this!"

Undeterred, I press on. "Oh yeah? Then, who? Please tell me your mother isn't still picking out your clothes." He blushes scarlet.

"No!" he says, though I have to wonder about the truthfulness of that statement. "I picked them out myself."

"That's just as sad," I quip as I begin undoing his shirt buttons. "So if you don't want me ragging on your clothes, come shopping with me sometime. We'll snag ourselves a cute little salesgirl, and she can help you pick out some hot new styles. It's not like you can't afford it."

"There is nothing wrong with these clothes," he insists.

"Except they're dumpy, and they make you look like an old man."

"I have to look like a professional. A school teacher can't dress the same way you do."

"That doesn't mean you have to look awful. Are you afraid of this?" I run my hands over his bare chest, parting the shirt wide to reveal his magnificent torso. He bites his lip and hisses at my touch. He's pent up.

"Afraid they might find out about this ripped body of yours?" I spin him around and yank the shirt off him, run my fingers over his sculpted back. He gasps and breathes more heavily, hands pressed against the wall.

"Afraid those sweet-faced little girls in your class– and maybe some of the boys– would sit there getting wet over Gohan-sensei? The way I made that little girl today?"

"Sh-Shut up! You're so vulgar... They're just kids."

"Yeah, right," I say, wrapping my arms around him tightly, pressing my chest into his back. "They say those feelings start around age 12. How old are your students, again?"

He refuses to answer me, and I make quick work of his belt and fly, then divest him of the last of his garments, ripping the shoes off as I go. His cock is already straining. He moans as I wrap my hand around its thick, twitching length and begin to stroke roughly.

"Yeah," I hiss as I tug at his earlobe with my teeth and pull the tie from my own hair, letting it fall around my shoulders and tickle his neck. "You're afraid of those girls looking at you with lust in their eyes, afraid you won't know how to handle it. Pathetic."

I pull back, not releasing his cock, and pump my still-clothed hips into his ass once, then lean back down to hiss in his ear, enunciating every word with a harsher squeeze of his cock and a squeeze of one of his pectorals.

"Just what I'd expect from a _weakling mama's boy_."

The moment he snaps is always glorious. He throws me against the wall with one wrenching arm movement and a blast of ki.

"You're such a fucking asshole!"

Exactly what he needs.

He rips my shirt open, popping off every one of the buttons, yanking my pants and boots off in a similar manner until I am as naked as he, and then attacks my mouth, lowering us both to the floor.

"Asshole..." he whispers in a reverent growl when he is forced to take a breath. He clutches my shoulders and devours my neck, forcing me backwards.

We are constantly in motion. Hands roam frantically over muscled flesh.

Underwear models and weight trainers have got nothing on him. The bastard hardly ever trains anymore, and yet he can still look like this. Makes me sick, I swear. Some of us have to work to keep our bodies.

As if reading my thoughts, he kneads his hands over my waist and chest and purrs lowly in satisfaction. "Nice. You feel especially good today. Have you been working out more than usual?"

Having a saiyan compliment my body is like manna from heaven, and I'm more than a little pleased that he noticed, and noticed well, as he continues to fondle my chest and arms.

"Yeah, thanks," I breathe. "I can't exactly let myself go to pot when I have you guys depending on me. Gotta do the best I can to keep up with you."

"Hmmm..." He moves in again, kissing over my shoulders and cheek, and plays with my hair. He's frowning slightly, and I realize this is because I used the word "guys," plural. Sure enough.

"Are you seeing anyone else today?"

"I have Vegeta in a couple hours," I say, pausing, "and then Goku tonight."

His brows crease. I know it creeps him out to know he's sharing a man with his father, however private and separate my relationships with them may be. Plus he doesn't like the idea of Goku being with anyone other than Chichi, although he knows he has no right to complain when he also has gone elsewhere for satisfaction.

"Are you jealous?" I ask with a smirk, taunting him.

"Hmph. Maybe a little."

"You're hilarious." I run my hands down his lower spine and curl my hands around his sublime ass cheeks, finishing the move by pressing my thumbs vigorously into his tail scar. He cries out, the cry drawing out into a desperate moan.

With a deep growl and baring of teeth, he lifts me off the floor by my hips and lays me over the old student desk. My limbs dangle, but he remedies this quickly by hooking my legs over his shoulders and slamming the desk up against the wall.

I close my eyes and pant. Somewhere along the line he has found the time to slather on some lube, and he enters me with one long, forceful, insistent push, wringing a trembling whimper out of me. In turn, he moans lowly at the intense sensation. His head rolls, and with one gasp of breath he regains control, locking shaded eyes with mine, and he begins to move.

Moans, gasps, and a variety of other sounds of passion stream from my lips.

Burn, kid, burn. Burn me with all your pent up fire.

Why does he do it, with a beautiful wife and daughter that he loves dearly? He has a nice house, good job, perfect family. Job well done, Gohan. So ideal.

So safe.

I give him what they can't. His saiyan blood is his blessing as well as his curse. It devils him like a criminal locked in the basement of his mind, demanding something more than that easy, mundane living, no matter how pleasant that life might be.

The saiyan in him demands aggression and power and, above all, danger. To push the limits. To escape mortal danger with adrenaline pumping and blood pounding in your ears, to feel that rush of life and the thrill in your belly.

Gohan is a brilliant kid. He achieves the thrill he needs by dancing on the razor's edge; that is, having our illicit trysts in places just barely removed from the public eye, just a hair's breadth away from being caught and ruined. Yet he is smart enough to find places that give off that quality while still being mostly safe. An empty rooftop, a deserted parking lot late at night. Tucked-away rooms next to but just apart from the bustle of crowds. Like this one, perhaps his best yet. Private yet public, the risk level at its highest, for just a wall away are his fellow teachers and students.

A particularly hard thrust jolts me out of my thoughts, and through my haze of arousal I notice how close we are to the air grate, and just how much noise I'm making, and the devil in me moans louder.

As though we were on some sort of mental connection, I hear voices of students, probably those seated nearest the grate in some distant corner of the cafeteria. "Do you hear that?" I hear a boy say. "Like a moaning off in the distance. Inside the walls. It's a ghost, a real ghost!"

I can't stand it. I've become the new Soaring Eagle High ghost. Well, every school should have one.

The boy's companion calls him a liar, so I moan again, just as loud as before. The second boy takes it back and they both jabber excitedly about the "ghost," but by now Gohan has heard what's going on.

"Yamcha, shut up!"

I have the nerve to laugh, and in response he yanks me off the old desk, away from the grate, and lifts me up completely until we are standing, and he slams my back against the wall, supporting all of my weight in a show of strength.

I wrap my legs around his waist, toes curling as he slams back into me. God, these saiyans know how to work.

I forget everything else as our lovemaking reaches a fever pitch, feeling the taste of sweat and ki and the stale air of the room through wild and sloppy kisses, the scratch of nails and clutch of heaving muscle, silken hair caresses and hot steamy breath, and the devastating pistoning of his cock inside me, turning me to jelly.

He loops an arm around my back to help support me where he wants me, forehead lowered to mine as he pants. His free hand stops its roaming across my body and lowers to pump my cock, and I am nearly at my end.

At that point, in the shreds left of my conscious brain, I hear the huge heating unit in the other room kick on and begin to hum, growing louder, building in intensity as the machinery gets going, the sound seeming to reflect and accentuate each thrust of cock and the hum of my own body, and when the vibrations from the unit reach this room and wash over us I am nearly sobbing for release.

I try desperately to wait for Gohan, to give him as much pleasure as possible. He feels it too, and roars as he thrusts into me at lightning pace. His ki flows from him like a tidal wave and I explode, screaming my release, and he follows soon after.

We stand, locked together, for long moments, reveling in this intense feeling, gasping, our breath slowing in time and minds returning. Gohan lowers me gently to the ground and pulls out, and I sit back against the wall.

"Now that," I say, sweeping the hair out of my face, "was a great fuck." He's still kneeling, eyes cast to the ground. Here we go again.

"Oh god, Videl. I've got to stop this, its not fair to her. I'm a horrible person."

I roll my eyes and cut him off as I tie back my hair. "Cripes, every time with this. I told you: you want to stop this, the choice is yours. You want to make this the last time? Huh?"

He looks away, and his refusal to answer is my answer. He'll never quit. He needs it too badly. His saiyan blood holds him hostage in this addiction.

"Did you eat lunch at all?" I ask, changing the topic. He seems relieved. Perhaps the show of guilt is also something he needs to feel right inside.

"No," he says. "I brought it with me, though. Want to eat with me?" He retrieves a capsule from his pants pocket and releases it, and out pops a lunch big enough to satisfy a small army.

I grin back at him. "Don't mind if I do."

I pop a capsule as well for the extra shirt I'd brought, a royal blue one this time, and we clean up as well as possible and eat in pleasant silence.

I eye him sitting across from me, back in those old man's clothes. I was lying before. I hope he does keep wearing them, so every time I can have the thrill of unwrapping the drab brown paper from the glittering treasure underneath, to know that I am the only one to see the fiery, buried self he hides from the world.

He gave up the Great Saiyaman years ago, but he still wears a costume. This costume of the mild-mannered teacher, the boring dad, to hide the saiyan within. It's a different sort of secret identity, but one all the same. And I am privy to one of the greatest secrets there is.

I brush off the crumbs from our meal and stand. "I gotta get going. Call me whenever you want next time you need me." He gives me a constrained smile.

"Vegeta, next?"

"Uh-huh. Can't keep our princey waiting."

"Don't let him do anything too weird to you, Yamcha."

I wave off his concerns. "No worries, man. Hey, can I get some money?"

"Oh, yeah." He finds his briefcase and the wallet within, and hands me a 1000-zenni wad of cash. A good husband has to take care of his second "wife," after all, and he seems pleased to give it to me.

"It was fun, Gohan. Let's get together again soon."

He nods cheerily at that. "Don't let anyone see you on your way out."

"Dang, and here I was going to go to the cafeteria and tell them all how the school ghost spends his free time."

I dodge the thrown bento box and with a laugh, I'm gone. Time to pay a visit to the man who started it all.

Vegeta.

---


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: All DBZ characters property of Akira Toriyama and official licensees, and I make no money from this fanfiction.

Warnings: Gh x Y, V x Y, Gk x Y, domination, strange kink, OOC Yamcha (but since we don't see that much of him after Cell, who can prove it's OOC?) ;p

Urban Concubine

by Orchideater

Act II

--

About an hour later I arrive at Capsule Corp and straighten out my appearance. I ring the bell, though I could just walk in if I wanted, but at times like this it's good to be formal.

Bulma answers the door, looks me up and down, and gives me the thinnest of smiles. She knows exactly what I'm here for.

"Yamcha," she states as her only greeting, and moves aside as a sign for me to enter. I do so, and idly look around the foyer.

"Hey, babe. How you doing today?"

"Fine," she says tightly. "I'll be downstairs in my lab working on a prototype."

Because she doesn't want to hear what will be going on upstairs. At times I feel guilty for what she's feeling, but that never lasts. You knew what you were getting into years ago, honey.

Bulma pauses. "Vegeta's upstairs," she says. "He's in a good mood today. Try not to ruin it."

"I'll do my best, babe," I say and give her a wink. She turns curtly and descends into her lab, and I turn my attention to the task at hand.

A good mood, huh?

That always means he has something new for me that he's psyched about. Intrigued, I skip up the stairs and make my way to his room. I approach quietly, but not enough so that one would think I'm sneaking up on him.

He's sitting on his bed inside with his back to me, fiddling with some sort of device on his lap that I can't quite see. I rap on the door and hang casually on the door frame as I wait for an invitation inside. You don't just walk into Vegeta's den without permission.

"Hey, what's up?" I say, and he turns to me and smiles. Yes, an actual smile, small but genuine.

"Hmph," he responds, remembering himself. "You're late."

"No way, I'm right on time. You were just so anxious for me to get here that the minutes seemed like hours," I joke.

"Hah! You always were delusional about your own self-worth," he scoffs, but there is no real scorn in his voice.

A moment later he drops whatever he's been fooling with and then he is before me, fisting a hand in my hair to pull me down to his level, devouring me, delivering hungry, open-mouthed kisses as his tongue dominates my own and claims every inch of my mouth. Hot breath gathers between us until he pulls away with a growl and gives me a push backward.

"Get those damn clothes off," he rumbles, returning to his former spot by the bed. "You look like some trendy fashion junkie."

"You don't know fashion at all, Vegeta. This is a classic look." I do as ordered and pull off my jacket, then begin unbuttoning my blue shirt. He watches intently with every button loosed.

"So, new toy?" I ask as I remove the shirt, tossing it back to slide down and off my arms. That smile returns, if only for a moment. I may be the only person on earth to get to see that smile, that smile of an excited child with a new toy, reveling in all the new possibilities for play. I'll do whatever I can to see that smile, over and over again. He picks up what looks like radio equipment and shows it to me.

"It just came today. An 'electrical stimulation box'." He gives me a very evil look and holds up the two leads, and all of a sudden I realize what that thing is. Okay, scratch what I said before– he can save the smile for something else.

Sorry, Bulma, but I'm about to ruin his mood.

"You gotta be kidding!" I exclaim. "No way you're putting those things on my nips."

He flips the switch and makes a spidery spark of electricity jump between the ends of the leads. "They're not going on your nips."

Oh no. SO not happening.

"Gah! Forget about it Vegeta. I hate electric shocks."

"Don't be a coward. You've gotten plenty worse from ki blasts."

"It's not the same, Vegeta. Electricity has a different feel from ki. I hate it. Sorry, man, but that thing's out of the question," I state, squaring my shoulders and giving him a hard look, standing firm.

His brows travel downward as he realizes I'm serious. "You're refusing?" he says incredulously.

A resolute nod from me, and there it goes, his good mood shot straight down to hell. He throws the unit into the corner and begins storming around the room.

"Then why don't you go home, you selfish bastard! Idiot! Weakling!" He continues snarling and hurling insults at me.

I'm selfish, just because once in a blue moon I find there's something he wants that I just won't do? He's the one who gets his every sexual fantasy catered to by loving wife and willing lover. If only he could see what a spoiled royal he looks like right now, tantrumming because he can't have his way.

"Take it easy, Vegeta. It's just one little fetish. There's so much else we can do." I reach for his arm, and he bashes my hand aside. "Come on, ouji-sama." At hearing his title, he again smacks my seeking hand away, but noticeably less forcefully. "Throwing a fit like this is beneath you."

Two more tries and he allows me to touch his arm. Gingerly, I wrap my fingers around first one shoulder, then bring my other hand up to his other shoulder and begin massaging away the rock-hard tension there. He's quieted now, but still sulking.

"Remember your dignity, ouji-sama. Anything else you want to do, we'll do it." I move in close to whisper hot breath along his neck. He's taking deep breaths now, trying to calm down.

"Hey, didn't you tell me last week you were working on something special?" This seems to spark a memory, and I can literally feel his mood changing. "Did you finish whatever it was? Why don't we do that today?"

"I was saving it for a special occasion."

I kiss along his neck. "No time like the present."

He half-turns, and I am treated with a trace of that smile. "I suppose we could. I need something to make up for your stubbornness," he snaps.

Vegeta walks away and puts the electrical current unit into a dresser drawer. "Maybe we can use this on myself sometime," he says, then turns to leave out the bedroom door.

"Where are you going?"

"To go get what I've been working on. It's in the storage refrigerator downstairs. Wait there."

Refrigerator? I raise an eyebrow at that.

It must be food-related. Typical saiyan. I'm not exactly fond of mixing food and sex, but if it's what he wants, I can deal with it.

I strip down to my boxers and await his return on the bed, staring at the ceiling. A familiar ceiling. This very room, even this very bed, is where it all started with us all those years ago...

---

I had been shocked to hear that Bulma had invited Vegeta to stay at Capsule Corp. I knew she could be reckless and overconfident, but this was nuts.

The man was a killer, for gods' sake. He killed ME! Well, he was behind it, anyway. Besides fearing for the safety of everyone in the building, I admit I was a little insulted that she wasn't more outraged at the man who had killed her boyfriend.

However, upon hearing that he'd stayed at Capsule Corp for over four months without incident, my fears subsided, and I even felt relaxed enough around him to have a good laugh at the awful "Badman" outfit Bulma laid out for him after he returned from space.

I remember that fateful day, the day I watched him through the porthole of the gravity room, doing pushups, handstands, and katas in 400 G. He amazed me. I could barely move under 300. Asshole or not, even I could see it was impressive, and I had to admire his determination. I spared him a small smile, and told Puar we were going on a training journey.

Or so I planned.

I got my stuff together and was almost ready to go. I made my last journey down the second floor hallway, surprised to see Vegeta coming from the other direction. I watched him suspiciously, our eyes locked. As we reached each other he glared up at me, and I gave a nod of acknowledgment.

I was then startled to realize he had, out of the blue, turned me and pressed me up against the wall with one hand faster than I could see. He pinned my back to the wall casually with his forearm, tilted his head and looked up at me with narrowed eyes and a sneer. "I saw you in the yard this morning. Were you practicing a folk dance you learned here on Earth?" I'd been doing katas on the lawn.

I scowled, and my big mouth was off and running before I could stop it. "Shut the hell up, Vegeta. You walk around here looking down your nose at us like you own the place–"

He only pressed his arm tighter against my chest, and I winced with a gasp of breath. "I've seen you spying on me in the gravity chamber."

He moved his hand up to my throat. "I could kill you with no effort if I wanted to."

Fear gripped me. He had been so subdued when he arrived, so compliant the time he was here before me, I had begun to let my guard down.

"Pathetic. You are a pathetic excuse for a warrior. But still," the hand at my throat did not choke me as I expected; instead, fingertips moved to brush along my jaw, "not completely useless."

Then, to my utter shock, this tyrant who had killed or injured all my friends and almost destroyed the planet was kissing me. The idea was so absurd, I couldn't accept the reality of the moment and just stood there, frozen. His hand curled in my hair, pulling me down, deepening the kiss.

Before I knew it, he had dragged me into his bedroom and shoved me onto the bed on my back, and he crawled on top of me, straddling me. My mind was reeling. The killer space alien was gay? I couldn't believe it. And yet I'd seen him staring at Bulma from the shadows as well. Maybe an alien didn't discriminate.

I'd worried from the start that, with his criminal nature, he might possibly assault the women, although I'd never seen any evidence to support it. I feared for their safety and tried to be around as much as possible.

I never dreamed he'd go for _me_.

If he thought nothing of using me, was Bulma next? Or her mother, who I loved as my own? My mind was numb. I couldn't think, but one vague idea stuck in my head: if he was kept occupied with me, maybe he would leave the women alone. I had to protect them somehow.

Not quite consciously, I made the sacrifice. Offered up my body. I was a warrior, no matter what he said, and my body had taken plenty of pain and abuse in training. If I could convince myself it was for a greater cause, I could endure this.

I was so naive.

I said nothing as he stripped me of my gi. Said nothing as he kissed me everywhere and ran his hands over my body with abandon, as he rid himself of his own clothes. I did not participate, only lay propped up on my elbows, breathing heavily as he worked.

A moment came when he stopped and looked into my eyes and stared as though trying to figure me out, his face expressionless and impassive. I could only stare back, immobile. If I had told him no, then– if I had fought back– would he have let me go? Looking back now, I think he would have. But I was too terrified– for the women, for myself– to resist.

Even if he had no interest in Bulma, if I rejected him, would he respond in rage by destroying the city? I couldn't take the chance.

He took my silence as consent. Surprisingly soft palms glided over my hips, ghosting over my lower abdomen.

"You're not bad-looking, for a weak human. You could almost pass for a saiyan." And with that back-handed compliment he turned me over onto my stomach, ran his hands over the curve of my ass and up my back.

"Here you are my subject," he declared, sending a tremor down my spine, "and you will serve your prince. You will call out 'ouji-sama' when you come, and you will bow down before me. Right now," he said, moving my hips to the side to half turn me around. Heart full of loathing, I did as he asked and kowtowed before him on the bed.

"Very good," he said after a long minute or two had passed. He grabbed me by my hair and matter-of-factly moved me into position, and within moments mounted me unceremoniously from behind. In an unexpected act of decency he had used cooking oil from the kitchen as lube, but I was unprepared for the pain.

He waited for me and moved slowly at first, building up to the sort of rough, forceful pace I'd expect from someone like him. He obviously knew what he was doing and had done this before. The physical stimulation made me come, and I barely remembered to call out his title.

He was pleased, even lay beside me afterward with an arm around my waist. I, however, felt disgusting and used, completely empty. I had no idea it would be this difficult mentally and emotionally.

It became a nearly nightly ritual. He would call for me, and I would go to his room and we would have sex. I would submit to him fully and do whatever he asked. It seemed to be working– he never went after the women and bothered no one.

Meanwhile I was quickly becoming depressed and despondent. Then came the day when Bulma came to me, crying, telling me she was pregnant with Vegeta's baby.

I was frozen, only able to automatically move a hand to her back as she cried into my chest. Did she expect sympathy? Support? Here when she'd not only seduced the very man I'd given up my dignity to protect her from, but to add insult to injury, was going to have his baby? I had never felt so betrayed, so pointless, so cold inside. We had never had the best relationship, but we had never officially broken up, either.

She sobbed that she was sorry, that it "just happened." Sure. I'd seen her clucking over him when he nearly killed himself in the gravity machine. And now she lamented that he didn't care, that when she told him she was pregnant, he said "Take good care of it," and went about his business.

She ought to be glad she got that much from him.

Over and over she said she was sorry. Such a sick feeling had overtaken me, I had to get out of there. I could only hold her, then finally offer an, "I'm sorry too," before I detached and walked away. I went to the bathroom and puked, and stayed in there on the floor for two hours before I could move again. When I asked him later why he did it, his reason was no more elaborate than "She offered sex, and I took it."

I had my revenge a few days later, though I never meant to take it, when Bulma came to Vegeta's room, hoping to make up with him, and found him pounding my ass with my legs around his neck. Vegeta seemed unconcerned and couldn't seem to understand why she ran off in tears. According to him, saiyan culture was hardly monogamous.

I'd be lying if I said seeing her heart break didn't give me a small amount of evil satisfaction. But I never wanted her to be hurt like this. And I especially never wanted her to see me in my disgrace.

A lot of screaming ensued later, which I bore the brunt of as Vegeta simply ignored her and walked away in a foul mood. I didn't want her to feel guilty by telling her I did it to protect her, so I only said that he came to me, and I felt I had no other choice. This didn't help, since it was basically saying he wanted me, but you had to work to seduce him. She screamed at me over how I could I think I had no choice, that Vegeta wasn't that dangerous. Yeah, right. For a so-called genius, she could sometimes be completely devoid of common sense.

We called each other terrible names, and the fight ended with nothing resolved. I was at the end of my rope. I began avoiding both Vegeta and Bulma. I had to put an end to our twisted relationship.

I no longer worried that Vegeta would destroy the earth, and Bulma had wanted the very thing I was trying to protect her from. There was no reason for me to keep it up, except out of fear. I didn't know how to end it.

I came around his gravity chamber several times but couldn't summon up the nerve to interrupt him and tell him it was over. Finally, I came to the GR to spy on him, peering through the porthole window, and he noticed me. I was caught, just as I had been at the beginning.

The hatch door opened with a great hissing of air, and he pulled me inside and wasted no time beginning to kiss me, asking where I'd been. To my horror, he turned the gravity up to 250 G's, enough to pin me to the ground.

Apparently this was his game today, to render me unable to move by the force of extreme gravity.

He parted my shirts, kissing my face, caressing my chest. I began to breathe heavily, not out of lust, but from the overwhelming frustration and despair felt by a man pushed to the limits of what he could take. The pressure of the air only worsened the pressure in my heart.

"No," I said weakly, and he raised an eyebrow and looked at me with interest, since throughout this whole time I'd never voiced one word of resistance unless he had personally requested it.

"Pardon me?" he asked, amused. "Is someone having a bad day?"

"NO!!" I screamed as loud as I could muster, my eyes wild, enough to stop him in his tracks. "Stop touching me. Don't touch me! I'm done. This is over. I can't take it anymore!" I began hyperventilating, thrashing my head.

"Turn off this damn gravity! I have to get out of here. Away from Capsule Corp. Away from you!"

Instead of raging, as I feared, he had gone white as a sheet. He sat back on his heels, unmoving, eyes wide with astonishment, shocked.

I began screaming hysterically until Vegeta hurried to the console and switched the gravity back to normal, and I clambered to my feet and held myself upright with a hand against the wall, trembling, sweat dripping from my face. No words passed between us, only the sound of my tortured breathing. I finally risked a glare in his direction. He was kneeling on the floor, hands palms-up in his lap, eyes downcast. I hadn't expected a reaction like this. Why the hell did he look so dejected?

"Have you thought this from the beginning?" he said at last, speaking slowly and quietly. I nodded. "You never said anything. You never resisted."

"I should have. But I was too full of fear."

He said nothing, did nothing, and I took that as my leave. I staggered out of the gravity chamber, and with increasing determination packed my things, fetched Puar, and left on the training trip I had planned two long years ago in a last ditch effort to make myself stronger so I could be useful.

But I couldn't get the confusing image of him kneeling on the floor out of my head. Had our relationship been more to him than the saiyan power trip I always assumed it was?

The androids came, then Cell, and I was typically out of my league. Goku perished, and to our despair, elected not to return. Gohan accepted it far better than I expected, with a wisdom and spiritual acceptance greater than most adults, firm in the belief that his father was always with him.

Vegeta, however, was devastated.

I had managed to find myself an apartment, but I still dropped by Capsule Corp often, and with each progressive visit he seemed to be worse and worse, isolating himself, aggressively rebuffing all efforts to reach him.

I was still resentful for the time I spent owned by him, but time had softened the memory, and I began thinking perhaps it wasn't so awful after all. He was rough at times, but never truly what one would call abusive. Though dominating, he always saw to my pleasure. The image of him prone and desolate on the ground as I left still stood out starkly in my mind. No one had ever reacted so strongly to my rejection.

To his mind, had we been lovers? Had I misunderstood something from the start?

After months of deep depression and moping on Vegeta's part, Bulma became desperate enough to ask for my help. Vegeta hadn't moved from his bed for three days, refusing food and drink and any sort of human interaction. Over the time I'd been away, Vegeta had warmed slightly to Bulma and his infant son, but he wanted nothing to do with them now.

I went to the bedroom, dimly lit with grey light. He lay with his back to me, on his side in an odd position as if he'd been thrown down and just stayed the way he landed. I moved around to the far side of the bed, sat on the floor, and looked up into his vacant face. For long moments he didn't notice me. Then a light of awareness sparked in his dull eyes.

"You," he rasped, throat dry. "What the hell do you want?" A typically rude response. It was actually heartening. However, his voice sounded tired and bitter.

"I came to drag you out of bed. You need to get up, Vegeta. You're making everyone worry."

He closed his eyes against me and made a grunt of scorn. "I have no reason to get up. I have nothing."

"What bull. You've got a great new son and a gorgeous billionaire in love with you. You've got everything you could want here."

"Idiot," he forced out as though it pained him. "_He_ is gone. I am alone. I have nothing to work toward anymore. The saiyan race is dead."

I hadn't considered how Vegeta felt about being the last of his race. "They're not gone. There's Gohan, and Trunks."

"Watered-down blood. Not like his."

I sighed. Goku was his grand obsession, his drug, and now he was suffering from permanent withdrawal.

Hesitantly, I reached up and took his hand in mine, massaging it. His eyes flew open in shock. "I was your 'subject' before, wasn't I? Substitute saiyans are better than nothing." I stood, brushing my lips over his exposed ear in the faintest of touches. He shuddered. "Get up, Vegeta. Goku would be disgusted if he saw you this way."

Vegeta got up. And at that moment our relationship began again. This time I entered into it with confidence, my head clear and unafraid, because this time it was my choice.

He re-approached me cautiously, almost shyly at first, daring a touch here, a touch there. We were having sex again by the end of the week.

As the years passed I grew bolder, and his fantasies only grew more strange and twisted.

I eventually noticed a trend in all of Vegeta's lovemaking. We could never just have sex. He always had to have some scenario in his head, usually him as prince and me his willing, sometimes unwilling, subject. Often something so simple as a few spoken words to set the scene. Never anything as ridiculous and elaborate as costumes and roleplaying, but the spirit was there: I was a saiyan subject, a soldier under Frieza, a terrified inhabitant of a conquered planet, or many others, most notably, Son Goku.

One day he asked me what something was: he'd been snooping in Bulma's dresser drawers and found her mini vibrator, and I had to explain toys to him. This caused a watershed, and he wanted to know where you could buy such things. Going to the local erotica ship opened his eyes to a whole new world of sexual possibilities.

Never believe him when he says he hates Earth. He loves it here, because no other race but humanity could provide him with such an overflowing cornucopia of perversity.

We have played with every toy in the shops, and he orders items from his favorite catalogs. I have let him do almost everything to me. My only exception (and now, the electrical box as well) was I refused to do anything with bodily waste. Thank god he was never interested in that. We have done bondage, S&M, you name it.

Naturally, Bulma despised our illicit affair. Vegeta grew more fond of her, as time passed, and even grew to love her, but he made no promises.

Once she openly asked him to stop seeing me, and he told her no. Period. It was her choice to stay with him despite it all. Even she had to admit I was a necessary evil that siphoned away all the twisted desires that he required but she couldn't provide.

Bulma will do some of the more simple "prince and princess" scenarios or the like with him, but for the most part she prefers no-frills sex, only wants the feel of his hard body moving against hers. I can hardly blame her. To be with her in this way, he has to play the fantasies silently in his mind.

I have even let him put me in a cage. However, this is not an act of humiliation. Vegeta will leave me there for an hour at most, then come and "rescue" me. He frees me as he once wished to be freed.

He has never said anything in detail about his time with Frieza, but I would have to be an idiot not to realize what he was made to do. I get the feeling that the things we do together are child's play compared to the sick degradations Frieza must have put him through.

Because of this, he has developed the fantasies and the games. Because of this, he must always be on top.

I discovered this the hard way when, after trying to push him down one night after too much to drink, I ended up laying on the floor for two hours in intense pain with a broken hip while he shook and whimpered and rocked back and forth on the bed. When he came to, he left me a sensu bean and didn't speak to me for a week.

Frieza made sex unbearable to him, repulsive. Only by adding something– a gimmick, a game, a fantasy– can he distract himself enough to enjoy it.

He must forget that it's sex.

This is the strangest of psychology, but it is the conclusion I have come to over the years. The fantasies are his self-defense, because sex, in its pure and unadorned form, takes on a magnitude that terrifies him back into Frieza's bed.

I grew comfortable with him, thought he was settling down. I even gathered the rare ingredients needed for Roshi's elixir of immortality and drank it, so I could be with him and not grow old and feeble while he stayed the same.

Then came the Buu incident. Goku came back, and all Vegeta's control was shot to hell in his presence. His possession by Babidi and the cruelty he welcomed as Majin was a wake-up call, as was the ki blast that barely missed both me and Bulma and everyone else in the stands.

I had been lulled to complacency, thinking he couldn't hurt us now. Unfortunately it looked like the dark demon inside would always be lurking there. I was terrified again, unable to trust him.

So, I acquired insurance. Gohan, and then Goku. If one of the three gave me trouble, I could turn to the other two for help.

Vegeta was livid when he found out, red-faced with rage, until he discovered he rather liked the idea of fantasizing about what I was doing with them. So we continued, and he enjoyed a new level of perversion during our times together.

Soft footsteps on the stairs pull me out of my deep reverie and back to the matter at hand. Vegeta pushes the half-closed door open with his elbow since his arms are occupied with something wrapped in thick blankets.

What kind of food is that, a baked ham? Though knowing him, he'd find some way to make sexual use out of even that. He is endlessly creative in his perversions.

He glances askance at me as he lays it carefully on the bed and gives me that small smile. "I've been working on this a week or more, to make it give the perfect experience."

"So it's not food, then?" I ask, peering over his shoulder.

"I never said it was. Jumping to conclusions is one of your worst qualities."

"Tch. Why was it in the fridge, then?"

"To keep it cold, obviously. See?" He peels back the last layer of insulating blankets and reveals... I don't know what. He releases a shuddering exhalation of anticipation, touching the handles gingerly, reverently.

"What is it, Vegeta?"

He doesn't have much of an answer. "I made it," he says, and lifts it out of its wrappings.

It looks like it started out as a wooden rolling pin, painted black and mutated into a device of sexual stimulation. The soft, silky brown pelt of an animal covers the roller completely, but through the luxurious fur jut metal projections: a profusion of nails, most with the blunt heads up, but many with their sharp points stabbing upward as well. Other bits and pieces of scrap metal have been driven into place also, providing a variety of textures, smooth and rough, straight and angular. Vegeta looks very pleased with his work.

"What do you think?"

"You've outdone yourself."

"And there's this," he reaches for a second device, what looks like a round mitt with a strap across the back to hold one's hand in place. The circular front plate is covered with blue silk and white feathers, and over the surface have been affixed rubber baby bottle nipples.

I touch the feathers, awed by the extent of his imagination for the perverse. "They're so bizarre..."

At this he fits the mitt over my hand, and he pulls off his own clothes with perfect grace. His body is a marvel, small and tight and packed with muscle honed to perfection from endless hours of torturous training.

He crawls onto the bed and lays on his back, arms loosely out to his sides, and nods at me. I understand his need.

I approach him slowly, the bed dipping and creaking faintly under my weight. He watches me with hooded eyes, anticipating, wondering where I will start. I make him wait a few moments while I decide on my first destination.

I touch down ever so delicately upon his unprotected abdomen. He shudders up his entire frame and gasps. I run the mitt with excruciating slowness up to his chest, slow, so he can feel everything. Feel the smooth glide of the silk and soft tickle of the feathers, contrasting with the drag of the rubber nipples. Over one sculpted pectoral I guide the mitt, skillfully evading his own nipples, circling back to traverse across the other pec.

Up and down his arms it travels, under his arms and down the sensitive sides of his torso. His eyes are closed, head to the side, mouth open and panting in pleasure from such an exquisite, strange combination of sensations.

I move the device over the curve of his hip, down his muscled legs. He squirms and moves slightly, trying to control himself even as his back arches against the bed. I run the mitt over his bare feet, rotating the mitt in slow circles to enhance the sensations.

I brush the mitt down his left foot from top to bottom, and he gasps as the rubber nipples catch between his spread toes and drag slowly through, until they pop out and push their rounded, bulging tips into his soft soles. Just watching him get hot over this is making me hard.

Moving the mitt to his nipples, I grind the silken, feathered, rubbery pad over those sensitive buds, and he screams out in ecstasy, throwing his head back heavily against the pillow, hands clenching and unclenching in the sheets. He is hard as granite and leaking and I begin to move the mitt to his cock, but he grabs my wrist with the swift movement of one deft hand.

Still breathing heavily, he locks eyes with mine, then casts his gaze over to the other device. It seems to be time to switch to the second invention, the "pleasure wheel."

I pick it up carefully. The metal projections are still starkly cold. Vegeta moans and pushes his jutting cock down and out of the way with one hand. His eyes travel up and down his body, a clear signal, and then he looks to me. We have become adept at speaking without words over the years.

Starting at the soles of his feet, I roll the device up and over the tops of his toes, up his shins and upper legs, cold metallic pinpricks and jabs against his hot skin followed by a moment's caress of soft fur, stiffer outer hairs spreading to give way to the downy undercoat beneath, the faint musk of animal pelt lingering in our nostrils.

I roll it up over his groin, hesitant at first because his hand does not completely cover his cock or vulnerable sac, but he seems to welcome the pain, the agony of icy nail pricks against his most delicate of areas, soothed by deceptive softness, only to be followed by more agony.

Up his cobblestone abdomen, over his heaving chest. He writhes, grunting and gasping, eyes shut tight, lost in his sensory world. I roll the wheel back down his body, reversing my previous path, then, when at the bottom, roll back up again. And again. And again. Increasing the speed and pressure each time.

Vegeta holds his arms in the path of the roller so they can be assaulted as well, and he quickly turns to his stomach, changing the roller's rapid path to his back, buttocks, and thighs, biting his knuckle in strangled whimpers, delivering jerky thrusts into the bed sheets that he cannot hold back.

He is about to break.

With an animal cry, he whips around and with a back-handed fist knocks the roller out of my hands and against the wall, grabbing me and slamming me against the mattress, devouring my mouth like a hungry beast, fingers clutching and groping everywhere, and I scream as he dives down to swallow my cock and suck violently. He brings me to the edge of a roaring climax, then pulls back and throws my legs over his shoulders and plunges into me roughly, giving me sparse seconds to adjust before he begins pounding me.

"Slut!" he roars at me in his wild passion. "Whoring around with the kid and that third-class imbecile. Do you enjoy it, slut, when they shove their cocks into you?"

I cry out against the overwhelming sensation.

"Tell me. Tell me about it," he hisses in my ear. "When he fucks you."

"W-Who?" I moan, baiting him.

"Kakarrot!" he snarls, thrusting brutally at the name, and I know I can't last much longer at this rate.

"Yeahhh," I breathe, sparkles blinking before my eyes. "He's fantastic, Vegeta. So powerful, so fucking huge," I say, then deliver the final strike. 

_"You couldn't handle him."_

Vegeta explodes with a roar, throwing his head back and closing his eyes, locking up in place as he pours into me, and I follow suit a mere second later, seeing stars.

For long minutes the only sound is our labored breathing as we descend from our high. Vegeta finally pulls out and falls to my side, an arm over my waist. After about 20 minutes of peaceful recovery, he pulls closer and begins idly licking my neck.

"That was good," he says, the understatement of the year. Again I see that hint of that elusive, boyish happiness. "I'm going to make more of those."

I chuckle. We've pretty much destroyed the mitt and roller. I sit up and rest my back against the headboard, and he studies me. "I was rough," he says, and I know he's referring to his rough entry. "Are you... you know..." he mumbles, staring at the wall behind us.

I think I'll tease him a bit. "No, I don't. Am I what?"

"Are you all right?!" he snarls, embarrassed.

"Aw, always so worried about me. Must be that mushy, emotional nature of yours." He scoffs and gives me his back.

"Nah, I'm okay. I prepared myself before I came here."

He seems lost in thought for long moments, then throws a piercing look my way. "Stay here the rest of the evening," he suddenly demands, knowing full well that I have a previous engagement.

"Vegeta, you know I can't." I set about pulling my wild hair back into a ponytail.

"Still, after all this time, you go to them. Do you distrust me that much?"

"It's not that, Vegeta." Though it is a little. "I've grown fond of visiting them, and they of me. We're all stuck together now. You know you love it."

His jaw twitches in rage, but I can see the lust in his eyes as well. "Come here a moment," he asks, crooking his finger at me. I scoot over closer, and he lays a heavy kiss on my lower neck, holding me in place and sucking hard. When he pulls back, sure enough, a dark red hickey has bloomed. He admires his handiwork with a nasty smile.

"See what Kakarrot thinks of that."

He gets up and grabs a wad of bills from a dresser drawer and throws them at me. "Go buy yourself something pretty," he says, and I laugh out loud at his impression of the old-fashioned husband doling out money to his little woman. He walks away, but stops to pause a glance over his shoulder. "Come back on Monday and tell me all about it."

I nod and he takes his leave, going down to the gravity room. I laze about in his bed until dark, resting and regaining my strength. I'm going to need it.

Finally I dress and fly off out the window, heading away from the city, to the deep woods.

—

A/N: Vegeta's "inventions" are heavily inspired by the Czech movie "Conspirators of Pleasure" (not a porn!). One of the characters pleasures himself in a similar way. Brilliant movie, please see it if you ever get the chance.^^


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: All DBZ characters property of Akira Toriyama and official licensees, and I make no money from this fanfiction.

Warnings: NC-17. Gh x Y, V x Y, Gk x Y, domination, strange kink, OOC Yamcha (but since we don't see that much of him after Cell, who can prove it's OOC?) ;p

Urban Concubine

by Orchideater

Act III

--

I soar over darkened fields, streams, and farms, over miles of dense forest, until I spot one tiny light of habitation hidden among the endless expanse of trees.

Descending sharply, I touch down before the small portable capsule house that's been set up here, warm yellow light streaming from inside and a thin trail of smoke from the chimney. Faint noise lures me to the back of the house, and Goku is there, practicing an elaborate kata in his usual gi.

I lean against the house and watch him. There is nothing more beautiful on this earth than the sight of Goku in his element. He is a master, the consummate warrior, and to be able to watch him when he's serious is a true treasure.

Absolute control. No wasted movements. Grace and fluidity that would put a dancer to shame, and behind it an unfathomable strength.

I can't say for sure, but with his continued training and Gohan's slacking off, I am almost sure he has reclaimed his place as the strongest saiyan.

He finishes his exercise with a pose of rest and exhales deeply to ground himself. Only then does he look my way with a smile.

"Hi, Yamcha!" he calls cheerily, jogging over to me with a broad grin of welcome on his face. I wave back.

"Nice moves, Goku. That a new one?"

"Yeah, I've been working on it for the past two weeks."

He leads me inside, and I toss my jacket onto a nearby chair. The place is furnished sparsely, nothing fancy. It doesn't need to be. This capsule house is for our purposes only, something he bought on his own.

Goku wipes his sweaty face off with a rag, then picks up a small bundle that fits in the palm of his hand. He holds it out to show me a mystery object hidden in a kerchief. "I've got something great for you today," he says, knowing I must be dying to know what's in there.

I hold my hand out, but he pulls it back childishly.

"Nope. You have to wait for it. It's good, you'll see." He goes to hide his prize in the kitchen, and yes, now I am dying to know what's in there. I'm going to take a guess and say rare old coins that he found.

Since I am essentially the "other wife," I expect my three saiyans to cough up a husbandly offering every month. For Vegeta and Gohan I expect a hell of a lot more, since they both have stinking rich wives, but since Goku's income is practically zero, I accommodate him differently.

Goku finds it quite fun to try and find valuable items for me. He makes my head spin as each successive gift gets weirder and weirder, and I have to find ways to sell the stuff.

He's brought me things like pounds of mushrooms or rare fish that are worth good money in the city, animal skulls, medicinal herbs, and more often than not, crystal formations or glittering geodes that collectors would die for. I've kept some of these for myself.

This treasure-hunting strategy is also what has supported the Son family all these years. Goku's methods might be strange, but they are all his, and they work for him.

He comes strolling back, grinning broadly but silently at me, hand in his hair. It's amusing– just like his son, he is sheepish at the start. The difference, however, is that for Goku that moment of shyness is only the briefest flicker.

He moves in to kiss me, hand pressed to the back of my head to keep me close, and when he pulls back, his eyes flit over me, his face serious now. "You seem stronger," he says finally. "Have you made your training regimen tougher or something?"

"Er..." I have to be careful here. From Goku, that's no idle compliment. "Yeah. I've been doing my best. I'll never be a match for you saiyans, though," I chuckle.

"Hmm." Goku narrows his eyes in scrutiny. "I think you have gotten stronger. I can feel it. I think we should find just how much," he says, walking past me a few steps, then stopping. "I'll be going supersaiyan tonight," he says, not bothering to look at me. This is a statement, not a request, and I swallow nervously.

He pulls his shirts smoothly up and over his head, revealing that vast expanse of sculpted back. God, his body is incredible. He's been working out all evening as he waited for me, and every muscle is pumped to capacity.

"Well," he says, voice full of cheer and smiles. "You can go ahead and get undressed and get on the bed," he tells me, not turning around.

I remain where I am and do nothing.

Muscularity of exquisite size and definition is revealed to me in excess as he removes the rest of his clothes, his pure, fair skin seeming luminous in the soft lamplight.

He takes a few moments to casually stretch every limb. One arm high over the head, the other behind his head to hold the opposite shoulder, then vice versa, then stretched in the same manner across one side of his chest, then the other. Hands clasped and stretched out straight before him, then behind him. One leg bent, his weight placed on it and the other stretched out slightly behind, then the other leg. Massive shoulders roll to loosen the joints.

In another setting this could be thought of as simply post-workout stretching, but here, I know, it is a performance. Presenting every inch for inspection and approval, as a male animal displays for his potential mate.

Finally he turns to face me, smiling that beatific smile, and approaches with even, confident steps to stand before me. I can only stare, mesmerized, looking down into his eyes. I am actually a few inches taller than him, but I have never felt as such. His presence is immense. Other fighters have surpassed him from time to time, but they could never steal away his position as the greatest warrior.

Only he wears power so well.

He cocks his head to the side like an adorable dog and gives me a small laugh. And, with the face of an angel, he grabs me by the neck and hurls me into the bed hard enough for the springs to touch the ground under my weight, the headboard to slam against the wall. All the air escapes from my lungs on impact, and I lay there making feeble choking noises before finally drawing in a gasping breath.

He approaches, climbing onto the bed slowly. He snaps his fingers, and with a flash of ki my clothes evaporate from my body.

"That's better," he says, smiling sweetly, voice like dripping honey.

Unlike my previous two lovers, sex with Goku is simple. He does not require clandestine, forbidden rendezvous like Gohan, or bizarre kink like Vegeta. There is only one thing he demands.

Complete and total dominance.

Goku was the most difficult to seduce. With Gohan, who was struggling to adjust to a new marriage, new job, new baby, it was easy to tempt him and then hook him with the promises of violent and forbidden release. Goku was always a strange one, though. Sex just didn't seem to be high on his list of important things in life, and at first he was leery of my offers and uninterested until, out of the many sexual options I proposed to him, he found one that piqued his interest.

I was surprised that amiable, carefree Goku would find domination of another appealing, but the more I thought about it, the more time I spent with him, I realized I shouldn't have been surprised. Goku might be easy-going, even childlike in everyday life, but in the bedroom his attitudes change drastically.

He has spent too much time in the wild to be unaffected by its doctrines. The rule of the animal kingdom dictates that the strongest survives, the strongest dominates in the act of mating, beating out all other rivals. This natural law, doubled by latent saiyan instincts, has shaped him. Goku does not boast or brag about his power, but he is very proud of what he has achieved.

With my clothes gone, he notices the hickey Vegeta graced me with, and his eyes narrow and that smile grows tight. He's pissed.

"Vegeta's doing, right?" he asks, running a thumb across the bruise. I can only nod. That little bastard knows just how to get under his skin, but it is all part of the push and pull of their rivalry.

He ducks in and sinks his teeth into my neck on top of the bruise, digging in hard, and I can only gasp and whimper as he grinds them in. When he pulls back, I am left with a red tooth-marked welt that has overtaken the previous mark.

He leans back on his knees as he wipes his mouth, muscular chest swelling with breath, and that smile is like deadly poison now. His arousal and excitement is building quickly, and I revel in that magnificent sight of his engorging manhood. He has the kind of anatomy that looks fairly average when soft, but when aroused, say your prayers. I will never get tired of seeing it, of being one of the privileged few to witness the sight.

All three of my saiyans are prime examples of masculine excellence and hung like bull moose, but Goku is simply a specimen _ne plus ultra_. Seeing him in his full dominating glory is enough to take my breath away.

I see Goku last for a reason. I have not bathed properly or changed any of my clothes besides my shirt since my previous encounters. Their smells are still all over me, cum and sweat and saliva. Their scents give him a thrill, because he loves to "have the last word," to re-claim me from the others.

Still kneeling, he leans back on his hands, the biceps and triceps in his arms bulging, chin tucked down into thick, curved pectorals as he looks down his nose at me. His thighs are spread, his massive cock jutting outward in obvious display.

"Get started," he demands.

I take him gingerly in hand, descending to lick the mushroom head, starting off with slow and leisurely strokes, savoring the taste of hot saiyan flesh, feeling his pulse beat in the veins under my tongue, gently stroking the remainder of the long shaft with my hand. He has tilted his head back, eyes closed, a deep rumble emanating from within his chest as he enjoys my attentions. I take more and more of him into my mouth, being careful of my teeth, and push him farther in, to finally slide smoothly down my throat to the root. Only years of practice allow me to take his size so easily.

His deep purr doubles in volume, and I feel his fingers weave through my hair, pulling and clenching. I suck and hum, saliva dripping from my lips, working his flesh with all of my skill, caressing his swollen sac with my other hand.

Goku has tremendous restraint, as expected of a warrior who has mastered the physical body, but he cannot help but react to such attentions, head thrown back, lolling slightly, lips parted.

Fingers grip my hair more tightly, and he begins to thrust into my mouth, gently at first, then gaining in strength and passion. I increase my suction, tearing a savage growl from his throat and a thrust that almost knocks me backward. I can feel his precum flow down my throat.

In the next moment he pushes me away and looms over me, kissing me roughly, thoroughly, his hot body covering mine, his cock pressed against my abdomen, pulsing against my own need. I take the opportunity to run fevered hands over his glorious masculine curves, the tight waist and perfectly formed arm and chest muscles, running my feet down his legs. The urge to bite his arm is irresistible, and I do give in to the urge and bite down and suckle on his large, round left deltoid.

He growls in turn, and gives me a matching bite on my left shoulder, harsher and deeper, overpowering me, obliterating any trace evidence of a challenge to his dominance here. He pins my arms out to the sides as he works over my neck, my ears, my chest, making me writhe and whimper and sigh.

When he is satisfied he pulls back and away, and moves to stand on the bed before me, glaring down at me, the intensity of his gaze stabbing through me and pinning me in place.

He bends his arms in the flexed position before him, clenches his fists, and begins to gather his power, face in a scowl of concentration. Like a force of nature, it flows from him, whipping his hair and fluttering the sheets.

More. More. Still more power electrifies the air, until, with a roar, he soars through the barrier into supersaiyan, power jumping impossibly, his handsome dark features bleaching to blond. My heart skips a beat at the moment of transformation, as it always does when he makes a display of it like this. The first level of supersaiyan has been overshadowed by other levels and fusions so Goku thinks nothing of it, but to someone like me it is still drop-to-my-knees-and-gape awe-inspiring. A golden god with the power of the universe radiating from him, and I am paralyzed in his presence.

He bathes me in golden light, looking even bigger and more pumped than before, sea green eyes piercing through me. He circles a finger in the air, an indication for me to turn over. I do as ordered, moving to my hands and knees.

I shudder as I feel that overwhelming golden power move closer, raising all the tiny hairs on my skin. The touch of his hands on my back hits me like a thunderclap of sensation, and I tremble uncontrollably as he smooths them down my back and sides, kneading the curves of my rear and tickling in light trails up my thighs. I bite my lip as he begins to enter me. Sweat beads on my face and blood wells on my lip as I take him all, inch by inch by inch, until I feel I am at my limits. I never feel so overstimulated and numb-headed as when he takes me at super saiyan.

He stills once he is fully sheathed and long moments pass, his thumbs massaging over my ass where he holds me as he gives me time to adjust, and also takes time for himself to appreciate the feeling.

There is only the sound of my panting. Sweat dampens the pillow below me and my fingers tremble with the effort to keep myself up. They won't last much longer.

When he is ready, without warning, he gives a short, staccato thrust upward, and I shriek at the sudden motion, my arms giving out and my chest dropping to the bed. I take in a gulping breath turned to long, shuddering moan as he pulls out slowly and sinks back in just as deliberately. He covers my body when he is sheathed, running his hands up my shaking arms in comfort, snuffling my hair and suckling behind my ear.

With a single, breathy laugh in my ear, he draws back and begins again, this time taking a slow but steady pace. Moans stream in a steady flow from my mouth as he increases his force and tempo to a vigorous pace.

My brain has turned to mush. I can't think, can only feel his huge cock inside me, feel his power washing around me like a deep ocean of ki. I am drowning and gasping for breath in that ocean. Taking him as supersaiyan was extremely difficult for me at first, but with time and increased training on my part it has become easier, and I feel I am handling today very well.

However, Goku takes that moment to say from behind me, "You're stronger now, Yamcha. You can handle more than this."

Damn, was he reading my mind? I snap out of my fuzzy place quickly. "C-Careful!" I stammer, twisting to try and get a good look at his face. There is only that deadly sexy look of total confidence and unconcern. "Don't go to level two! I-I can't–"

"Just relax, Yamcha," he says as he silences me with a particularly hard thrust. "Have I ever hurt you before?"

No, but there's always a first time! He worries me when he gets like this because, one, he can be absent-minded, and two, he has a bad habit of thinking people can handle more than they really can. I bite the pillow under me and pray he doesn't overdo it.

He begins increasing his power steadily, and the storm of ki around me builds to a raging hurricane, battering my senses. Higher, higher, until I feel I am in the center of a nuclear reactor.

Every cell is vibrating. I can't bear it. I am crying out unintelligibly, thrashing, gasping, saturated beyond my limits with his radiant wild ki. That ki burns me inside and out, yet is unbearably addictive, mind-blowingly seductive. So much raw, unbridled power– how can he handle it so easily?

More, more, more power, more force, more virility, his engorged cock pounding relentlessly against all my sensitive spots, and I can hold out no longer.

One more spike of his ki and I come screaming into the sheets, my body convulsing uncontrollably. Swooning, I twist to look at him, and I dully feel him still building, still pounding, still laboring for his release, his muscles bulging and straining and shining with sweat, until, with one last, tremendous, golden flare of intense ki he throws back his head, roaring, as he empties his prodigious load inside me, shot after shot, and I lose count as I pass out completely.

When I come to, I feel myself laying in muzzy darkness. My body is so hyperstimulated I can barely move. I become aware of someone touching me, and with effort I open my eyes, then turn my head.

Goku is behind me, pressed up against my back, his arms locked around my chest and his face nuzzling my shoulder. It seems I've only been out a few minutes, and I'm glad I woke up in time. Here in the aftermath is the only time I can see it: this fleeting moment of Goku's vulnerability, when he holds me tightly in gratitude, the brows furrowed on his beautiful face, clutching me as though I am the only one left in his world.

The need for total dominance comes instinctively, yes, but also out of a desire to feel total control over one aspect of a world he has never felt comfortable in. The understanding of so many aspects of human society still escapes him, after all this time, and though he loves her, his relationship with Chichi is strained.

He used to call on me around once a month; now it's once a week. Despite his happy persona, he becomes frustrated by this world, by his wife, by a power he can't use as freely as he'd like, by a saiyan prince he can never have. All I can do is offer him a makeshift outlet, and I can only hope that in my own way, I alleviate his feeling of being forever a stranger in a strange land.

He senses that I am conscious, and black velvet eyes open and gaze back into mine. And as fleeting as the wind, that vulnerable moment is gone, and, per his usual routine, he is left in a fantastic mood. He grins hugely and sits up.

"That was a great one, don't you think?" he enthuses.

I feel half paralyzed. I don't know whether to strangle him or get down and kiss his feet for some of the best sex ever. "I can't move," I complain, sighing pathetically.

"You'll be fine," he assures me, and props me up with pillows as though I am an invalid. "You're doing well, Yamcha. I went up to about three-fourths of the way to level two this time. Way more than ever before."

"No wonder I feel half dead. You're going to kill me with sex one of these days." He just laughs merrily.

"Ten minutes to the late night show. I'll make us popcorn." He clicks on the TV on top of the dresser and zooms off to the kitchen, and in seconds I can hear the microwave humming. I'm surprised the appliances still work after all the ki that was flying around in here earlier.

He comes back in a pair of pajama bottoms and with two huge bowls of popcorn in his hands as well as two root beers. They're both pretty much for him, though I usually have a little. He plunks the sodas on the night stand and the popcorn on the bed, and then to my astonishment, he reaches into my mouth and tugs on my right front tooth.

"Is it _real_, Yamcha? Be careful of the popcorn kernels!"

He seems to think this is hilarious, and once again he is blowing my mind until it finally dawns on me what he is talking about.

"Yeah, it's real! No thanks to the little punk bastard who knocked it out. I'm looking at him right now!"

He just laughs, and takes the liberty to inspect my tooth.

"Ohh? I thought you had a fake one put in." I swat his hand away from my face.

"Yeah, I did, a long time ago. Porunga was generous and gave me a new one that first time I was brought back."

He pulls a small packet from his pants pocket and holds it up. "You can have your present now. Think of it as an apology for the tooth, too," he says, winking mischievously. He pulls away the folds of cloth. Okay, my guess was old coins. No, it's a– diamond?

"Oh my god!" I am suddenly completely revived. I leap forward and grab it from him, holding it up into the light. "No way! Is this really...? Where did you get this, Goku?"

He chuckles at my enthusiasm. "It's pirate treasure." He is reveling in the attention as well as my disbelieving gawk at his statement.

"Back when I was a kid, the Red Ribbon Army chased us into this underwater cave complex, and it was an old pirate base. We found their treasure and one of the dragonballs. The place collapsed, but lately I've been going back and chipping through the mass with ki blasts, and I found my way to the treasure again. I even taught myself to use a ki shield to trap air so I can breathe down there."

"Goku, you're freaking brilliant. So where's the rest of the treasure?"

Goku gives me a knowing smile. "Still down there. It's a good place for it."

"Your secret stash, eh?" He's not going to fall for my attempts to wheedle the location out of him. "Does Chichi happen to know about your sudden windfall?"

Goku frowns a bit. "No, and I'm not going to tell her. If we need money, I can always go to the treasure and get a stone and sell it and give her the zenni. You know how she is with money. If she found out about this, it would go straight to her head. I don't want to live like Hercule in a big mansion in the city. The way we live is just fine."

There is frustration and sadness in his voice, and for a moment I regret mentioning her name. I was right; he and Chichi must be having more problems than usual lately. If she doesn't watch it, he might up and fly away one of these days.

"Sorry for bringing it up, man. It must be hard when Chichi gets money-crazy."

"Mmm." Goku gives me a wry look. "She's a lot like you, that way."

"Oi, oi! All right, so I like money and the finer things in life. That's no crime is it?" Anybody would jump for joy at being given a perfect, cut, walnut-sized diamond.

Goku laughs, his good mood back full-force. "Come on! Time for the show. Move back."

I sigh, sliding back so I'm sitting up against the headboard, and Goku gets comfortable between my spread legs and rests his head on my crotch. Now, this is about as comfortable as having a bowling ball plopped down upon my abused and very tender man-parts, but it makes him happy so I don't argue.

"Ooh, funny newspaper headlines and animals on today. Lucky!" he cheers at the show's preview spot.

Goku chomps popcorn while I stroke his hair with one hand and clutch my new prize to me with the other, much like a child taking a new toy to bed with him. We watch the show, laugh, and eat. It's hard to believe he is the same man who was pounding me savagely only an hour before.

He finally clicks off the TV and curls up against my legs.

"Stay the night, Yamcha," he says in a small voice.

"I can't stay all night, but I'll stay for a while," I respond softly, still stroking his hair, and with my hand in his hair and his head in my lap he is brought back to that time so long ago when he felt he truly belonged.

He is soon asleep. After an hour I delicately extricate myself and dress in an extra set of clothes I brought by capsule. I pull the sheets up to his neck, and take a last look at his peaceful face before turning out the lights.

See you next time, my beautiful, innocent beast.

---

The flight home seems endless. I am so exhausted I can barely stay aloft. I am, unfortunately, only human, and satisfying three saiyans in one day is a daunting task. But the honor is all mine. I set down before my condo just as the dim light of dawn begins to turn the eastern horizon gray. Goku's offer to stay the night was tempting, but I couldn't make Puar worry more than he already does.

"Yamcha-samaa!" he wails as I enter the condo, flying into my chest and hugging and burying his face into me. "I'm so glad you're all right!"

I chuckle and ruffle the fur on his head. He waited up for me; he can't help it. "Puar, you worry over nothing."

"Do you want me to draw you a bath?"

"Tomorrow. Right now all I want is to sleep." I fall into bed, Puar curled up on the pillow beside me. I look at him fondly before drifting off.

I once had the naive dream of marrying a nice girl. I've since discovered that life, and relationships, are not always so simple, and that sometimes the life that works for you is as far from conventional as can be.

I don't know how long it can last, but for now, I am quite satisfied with my arrangement. I get all the sex I could possibly want, plus if I feel the need for a woman I can always bring one home for some fun. I am fond of and attracted to all my three "husbands."

My relationship with Puar, however, is my deepest bond, one that is completely pure and chaste.

Somehow they all mesh together into a life of contentment. I could never go back to the idea of marrying and raising kids– it just doesn't work for me.

I was always the weakest, most useless one of our group, but now I have found my place. Finally I am useful. I provide them with what no one else can, satisfy them, have earned their favor.

Since I could not attain power on my own, I have gained it by proxy. I have given myself to the saiyans, a slave to their addictions, and each of them has thrown their chain around my neck.

But if I am theirs, they are mine. The chain each has cast onto me latches around their own necks as well. They need me. Need what I provide in order to thrive.

And through that, I muse as I drift off to sleep, I am the most powerful man on earth.

Sweet dreams.

---

A/N: Story COMPLETE. Big thanks to Kurok, Xanathos, and mikkimikka for reviewing! And thanks to all who may read and review this story in the future.


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